Galapagos- Part 1

Today started at stupid o’clock. We’d set the alarm for 3:30am to catch a 4am taxi to the airport. Galápagos admin waits for no one, and we needed time to buy our ecological pass and deal with all the rigmarole before flying to the fabled islands.

Excited? You bet. But also tired as hell.

I did what I do best on planes—slept. I only stirred when I heard Maree say, “Excuse me, um… what airport are we landing in?”

Turns out we were in Guayaquil. We had no idea the flight had a stop-off. A bit of an odd setup—some people got off, others got on, and those continuing to the islands were told to stay put.

As the plane lifted off again, I passed out once more.

Finally, we landed on San Cristóbal Island, stepping off the plane into glorious, hot air. Thing is, we didn’t really know where we were on the island or how to get into town. Our brains weren’t firing, so after a failed attempt at figuring it out, we defaulted to a taxi. $3 later, we were at Darling’s Hostel

After checking in and freshening up, we wandered into town in search of food and found a spot tucked away from the main drag—delicious seafood arroz.

Next mission: book a 360 tour around the island. It includes snorkelling with turtles, sharks, stingrays, and whatever else swims past. I got into a friendly barter sesh with an old fella at a tour booth. He said $160 each, I said $300 for two. He kept saying no no no—$150 each! Took him a bit to realise we were saying the same thing.

We had a laugh and locked it in for tomorrow.

With momentum on our side, we booked our ferry rides for the rest of the Galápagos loop—San Cristóbal to Santa Cruz, then to Isabela, and back to Santa Cruz. Sorted.

Then came the wander. And oh man, what a wander. Seals were lounging on rocks right by the road—barking, farting, flopping about lwithout a cear in the world.

Maree found one with his crown jewels proudly on display and cackled herself silly like a teenage boy. And then I spotted a baby seal having a vivid, obvious naughty, dreams clearly... I mean, you can’t unsee that.

Iguanas were chilling alongside the seals, crabs in bright oranges, yellows, blacks and speckles were scuttling about like characters from a Pixar film. It was nature’s weirdest street parade.

We ended the day back at the hostel, swinging in hammocks with cold Galápagos beers, chatting away. Eventually, I slipped into a nap (again), until Maree woke me to hunt down dinner.

We weren’t that hungry, but found a local spot and grabbed some papa pollo before swinging past the Kono Man for a nightcap.

First day on the islands? Bloody magic

We turned up at the tour base at 6am, just like the instructions said. Only thing was—it was locked up tighter than a drum. Not a single human in sight.

So we waited. And waited.

Marie—never one for standing still too long—was pacing, muttering under her breath, “If they want us here at six o’clock, they should bloody well be open at six o’clock.”

I just shrugged. “Pfft. They’ll be here, babe. Island time, y’know?”

Still no sign of life, so to kill time (and keep Marie from combusting), we wandered down to the pier to watch some seals loafing about. Did a lap. Came back. Still nothing. Did another lap. Same story.

Eventually, a little café opened its shutters, so we sat down and joined a local who spoke some English and ordered what passes for coffee in Ecuador: a cup of hot water with a jar of instant on the table. Help yourself.

Turned out the local was actually a guide himself. Marie launched into him about how we’d been told to turn up at 6am sharp to get our wetsuits and gear sorted, and why the heck wasn’t the shop open if that’s the time they wanted us there?

He gave us a quizzical look, glanced at his watch, and said, “It’s only 6:20. Galápagos time is one hour behind the mainland.”

Marie blinked. “Opps...my bad!! I didn't know the about time difference!!"

Righto, mystery solved.

Eventually, the doors opened, and we got fitted with wetsuits, snorkels, masks, and flippers. A small gaggle of others gathered, and we were herded down to the marina to pile into a boat for our day of circumnavigating San Cristóbal Island.

No warm welcomes or safety briefings, just straight into it. The crew gave us a vague, “We’ll be driving for 40 minutes,” and off we went, thundering across the open sea.

First stop: a short walk over jagged volcanic rock to a little lagoon. Easy enough for me and Marie, but a bit of a mission for some of the others. Our guide seemed far more focused on charging ahead and bellowing “¡Vamos, vamos!” than checking if his group could actually keep up.

We’d already befriended three American women—Robin, her daughter, and a lovely lady named Karen—so we helped them navigate the rocky path.

Once at the lagoon, it was straight into the water. No questions asked about swimming ability, no mention of life jackets or floatation devices. Just an unspoken “off you go.”

To be fair, me and Marie were in our element. But a few of the others—not so much. Karen was especially nervous, so I ended up holding her hand the whole time, guiding her through the water and giving her the confidence to relax and enjoy her surroundings.

By the end of the swim, Karen was buzzing—like a fish discovering freedom. That alone made my day.

The lagoon itself was magic. Surrounded by dramatic volcanic rock, the water was full of life—turtles gliding like old souls, stingrays flapping by like ghosts, and white- and black-tipped reef sharks cruising the depths.

It was peaceful, surreal, and properly wild.

After we’d had our fill, the yelling resumed and it was time to clamber back across the rock, dinghy to the boat, and zoom off to the next destination—another 40-minute ride along the coast.

The landscape felt strangely familiar. The jagged rock faces, the barren beauty—I couldn’t stop thinking of that old Planet of the Apes scene, the one with the half-buried Statue of Liberty. Don’t ask me why, it just had that post-apocalyptic vibe.

Then came the boobies.

Yes, those boobies—blue-footed and red-footed ones. Birds, obviously. The boat didn’t stop, just kinda blasted past them while someone pointed and yelled, “Boobie! Boobie!” Blink and you missed it. Not exactly a National Geographic moment.

Lunch, however, was a surprise hit—fish, rice, and salad. Simple, fresh, and delicious. Hands down the best meal I’ve had on a guided trip… though, to be fair, I usually am the guide.

More cruising around volcanic cliffs and green-tufted hills brought us to a beach for another snorkel. This time: sharks. Big ones. Blacktip Reef Sharks.

We jumped in with them like it was no big deal. Brave, eh? Maybe they don’t eat tourists. Or maybe we just didn’t taste very good.

Our final destination was Kicker Rock, the famed snorkel spot promising hammerhead sightings. It’s a towering slab of stone jutting from the ocean, and the sea just plummets beneath it.

Deep. Dark. Blue.

In we went. Didn’t see any hammerheads myself, but Marie reckons she spotted one. Still, the turtles were there, cruising like underwater philosophers, calm and wise in that slow, deliberate way. Stingrays glided past like shadows. It was eerie and beautiful all at once.

By late afternoon, we were salty, sun-kissed, and knackered. Back at the pier, we said our goodbyes to our new American mates, who thanked us for helping them enjoy their day. It felt good knowing we’d made a difference.

Before heading off, we asked the crew if we could rent the snorkel gear again tomorro.

Tomorrow we’ve got our own little self-guided adventure planned.

Tonight, I’m properly wrecked. The sea’s given me the tireds, the mellows, and the happies.

Today was our time to go exploring by ourselves, starting with coffee in bed in the morning. Then we wandered down to the local market to have some breakfast and buy a few goodies to get us through the day. A pineapple, some chippies, an avocado, and some juice.

Our plan today was to walk out to Puerto Baquerizo, explore, and snorkel. We followed the signs to the Centro de Interpretación Ambiental de San Cristóbal Gianni Arismendy — which we heard was where the trail started. Turns out there was a well-made tourist trail that took us first to Mirador Cerro Tijeretas, a lookout point, and then from there we followed a dirt, volcanic rock track for around 30 minutes down and along the coast until we reached our secluded beach.

There were only two others there, so it was quiet and calm. We donned our snorkel gear and floated around with the fishies for a while. Then we sat on the beach and munched on our pineapple, watching some iguanas do absolutely nothing but sleep on the rocks. And somehow, I still found them fascinating. I put my camera into action and got snap-happy with my lizard friends.

Another odd but weirdly fascinating moment was watching a crab drag a baby tortoise into its lair. Happy crab... not so happy tortoise!!

Marie accidentally discovered the iguana hangout under a nearby bush. They were all lounging in a heap, stacked on top of each other like it was some sort of 70s swinger’s party.

We wandered back, both in our own little bubbles of quiet contemplation.

On the way, we stopped at Playa Tijeretas, a more popular snorkel bay, where a few people were swimming with seals.

We got in and snorkelled across the bay, away from the people, lazily following the coast back. That’s when we encountered a tortoise just cruising quietly, minding its own business. We watched it for a while — it had absolutely no interest in us.

Around the next bend, we were inundated with adolescent seals in a playful mood, zooming in and around us like underwater missiles. We just floated and let them do their thing. It was kind of cool, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a bit scary too — I didn’t want to get bit!

We finished our adventurous day...you guessed it... swinging in the hammocks back at our accommodation, sipping on cold cervezas, reliving our days highlights

The first thing I saw this morning?

A boobie.

Yep, nothing like a flash of blue-footed brilliance to kickstart your day. There it was, perched proudly on the rocks just off the beach as we wandered down to catch our ferry.

I may’ve been half asleep, but that wee blue-footed beauty had me grinning like a kid on Christmas.

We joined the queue to board our boat to Santa Cruz — the ol’ Change Islands trick — and before we knew it, I was out cold.

I woke up because Maree gave me a tap, and suddenly everyone was standing, staring at the half-conscious gringa still slumped in her seat. “Oh,” I mumbled. “Are we here?”

And boy, were we ever. Santa Cruz hit us like a touristy slap in the face.

More people. More shops. More hustle. More heckling. It was like the Galápagos version of Bali.

All we wanted was coffee and a feed, so we ducked a couple of streets back from the main drag to find something cheap. Instead, we got restaurant owners in a full-blown bidding war for our bums on seats. I eventually picked one just to shut them up.

Fed and mildly caffeinated, we set off to find our new digs, Hotel Dove. A bit of a wander out of town, and that suited us just fine.

The noise faded, the hecklers dropped off, and we wandered through the quiet part of Santa Cruz where the locals were just... being.

Hotel Dove was a treat. Christina, our hostess, had us sorted quick-smart and we scored a quiet double bed with an ensuite. Yet again, we've done well.

We gave ourselves a breather — shower, coffee, lie down. Then we set out for the Darwin Research Centre, Maree’s number-one pick on this island.

It was bloody brilliant. Smart layout, good info, and best of all... it was peaceful. We could actually breathe and take it in without sensory overload.

We’d packed our snorkel gear for an arvo dip at La Ratonera Beach, but when we got there, it was more surf than snork. Rough, rocky, and not exactly inviting for a lazy float with fishies.

It didn’t matter, I was fizzing. My camera was in overdrive: iguanas stacked like scaly pancakes, lizards darting underfoot, and a bird straight-up smashing a crab on a rock like it owed him money.

Sadly, we also clocked a rat sneaking amongst the volcanic shore line. Maree did her best conservation effort by throwing a big rock at its head. But she's off the team!! She missed by miles. Ol' ratty lives to wreck havoc on the wildlife!

Back to town, back to Heckle Street, and a speachless-as dunch. Both of us sat there, silent. Not angry, not sad — just maxed out. Over-sensitised.

After days on the bikes with nothing but each other and the wind, the last few days of noise, people, activity, and interaction had finally caught up with us.

So we did the only logical thing — wandered back to our quiet corner of the island, curled up in our bubbles, and let the overwhelm melt away.

We decided to hoof it to Playa Tortuga Bay this morning. We left around 9-ish, early enough to dodge the heat but not so early that it ruined our coffee routine. We had to be on the ferry at 2 pm anyway, so it gave us time for a wander.

The walk out was surprisingly chill. Well-paved track, a few scattered tourists, and some of Darwin’s finches flitting about, which made up for the otherwise wildlife-less stroll. I reckon we’d been a bit spoilt back on San Cristóbal.

Eventually, the track spat us out onto a pristine white beach. Waves were hammering in, properly wild.

Oddly, there were two red flags planted at either end, and we were told not to swim between them. Everything I’ve ever been taught said the opposite.

As we paddled along the shore, Marie pointed excitedly.

“Babe, look at that!”

There, in the shallows, was a wee shark surfing the break. Then another. They weren’t just swimming—they were catching waves. I’m calling them the Hang-10 Sharks. Sure, maybe they were chasing bait fish, but I’m sticking with the surfing story.

At the far end of the beach we slipped through a shaded grove of mango trees to a quieter bay, supposedly good for a swim. Joke’s on us—it was packed. Wall-to-wall humans. Felt like a public pool on school holidays.

We tried snorkelling off the rocks around the mangroves, but the visibility was trash. Cloudy as a muddy puddle. So we headed back to the surf beach and found a massive blue rock pool, like nature’s answer to a spa. Crystal-clear water, baby fish darting about like toddlers on red cordial. Not exactly world-class snorkelling, but it had charm.

The walk back was chaos. The earlier trickle of people had turned into a full-blown herd. We got out of there just in time.

Back at the hotel, we swapped fins for backpacks and made our way into town for a feed before the ferry to Isabela Island.

Santa Cruz was loud, busy, and buzzing. A place where you booked tours more than you explored. Pretty, sure, but peopley. Way too peopley.

Now, word on the street was that if you sat at the back of the ferry, you’d get to spot manta rays. But all those seats were taken. We were ushered to the front—the dreaded “bang-bang” seats. The ones that bounce. The ones where people spew.

I did what I do—fell asleep. Woke up just as we were pulling into Isabela. Looked at Marie.

She was green.

“It was touch and go, babe,” she mumbled. “Touch and go.”

Getting off that boat was like stepping into paradise. Isabela was quiet, relaxed, and refreshingly heckle-free.

We strolled to our hotel in peace, washed away the chaos of Santa Cruz, and took a deep breath.

Later that night we met Richard, the son of the hotelier. Full stoner vibes. Lovely guy, just a little... baked. We told him we wanted to rent snorkel gear, a couple of bikes, and book a tunnels tour—one of the only guided trips we were keen on.

“Everything’s chill, man,” he kept saying. “Island time, yeah?”

It felt mildly concerning handing over $300 USD to someone who forgot what we said two minutes earlier. But hey—it’s the Galápagos. What could possibly go wrong?